This will be long. It will be worth it. Prepare for the hilarity that is: Mama.
Last Sunday, my mom sent me a text message to the tune of “I’m having lunch with a friend after church. Come join us! I’ve spent a lot of time with this friend and want y’all to meet. Also I have the clothes I bought you.” (she buys me clothes. Sweet much? yes, she is!)
It was odd verbage, but mama doesn’t ask me to hang out much, and we have such different schedules and preferences, I jumped at the chance, even forgoing the study session I had planned. Instead I went to the gym and showered there, planning to jet to choir straight from lunch to maximize mama time. Also to maximize time, I didn’t dry or style my hair or put on makeup or shoes. I was in a black tank, jean, and flip flops. With messy-wet hair and no make up. Cause my mom and her friend won’t care what I look like! (Stay with me, it’ll matter later.)
So I get there, to this house, expecting to eat lunch with my mom, and her friend, Art.
What I was not expecting was Art’s mom, siblings, and nieces-and-nephews. Also maybe some neighbors and friends? Tough to say. I drive up and realize, oh, there are people, NICELY DRESSED, STRAIGHT FROM CHURCH, and THEY ALL KNOW EACH OTHER people here. And I’m not ugly, but I am n.o.t. looking anything like a good first impression. Awesome.
I knock on the door and walk apologetically in. I whisper to my mom
“Mom, I am so underdressed! I didn’t know there would be so many people here.”
“No, no, it’s fine! You’re fine. Let’s go out to the car and I’ll give you your clothes.” (I don’t think it’s fine and I don’t want to embarrass her, but I do want to trust her and i DO want to hang out with her…)
We walk out to her car and she lays it out for me:
“SO…I guess you’ve realized I have ulterior motives here…” She began, with a look that told me FAR more than her words that there was some serious plot going on, and she probably wasn’t going to give me all the details. I loose all concept of priorities at this point.
“Well, there’s this boy…”
“MOM!!!! IF you want me to meet someone, and you want them to actually LIKE me, you should tell me so I don’t come straight from the gym, looking like a scrub.”
“Well, you can go home and change.”
“Mo-ther! I don’t want to go home and change. This is what I have to be wearing later for choir. And you invited me to lunch- I just ran 7 miles, let’s not mince words here: I’M HUNGRY.” (and, apparently, angry. Hangry.)
“Well, it’s fine….” (it’s clearly not fine)
::sighofdefeat:: “Do you have make up? I’ll put on make up if you have make up.” (I at least don’t want her ashamed when the poor man revolts over my appearance.)
“Yes, and maybe we can find a blow dryer.”
Oiy. So she goes on to try and sell me on the issue.
“He’s a really good man. And he’s so good looking. He looks like a barbie.” (He didn’t)
“No, but…he’s getting his masters.” (he’s getting some kind of certification)
“In what?” (I’m thinking okay, maybe we’ll have something in common and can have at least a conversation.)
“HE’S A BUSINESSMAN?! Have you met me?!”
“Well, he is really serious about his relationship with the Lord. He likes good girls, who don’t party or drink, and he doesn’t like tattoos and peircings.” (I have no idea about the validity of any of these statements)
“This is about entertainment for you, isn’t it? WHAT PART OF THIS SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA?! Why are you introducing me to this man who will not like anything about me?!”
“He’s really nice.”
“I’m sure he is.” (And that this will be awful.)
So I finally clean up enough to feel like I can at least look people in the eyeballs without feeling like a second class citizen (they are really all dressed so well) and eventually this man walks in (who doesn’t look like a barbie) and he and his (i later find out) mom come over to talk to the woman I’m next to. But I don’t know who they are and don’t really look at them because I just keep meeting people who sweetly tell me their names but then CALL ME MARISSA so obvi, I’m not paying great attention. At some point my mom choses to introduce me to the stranger-over-my-shoulder and it clicks. Oh.
Later she asks me what I think.
“He does NOT look like a barbie, mom. We need to work on your adjectives.”
“Yes, okay. And I was wrong about finance.”
“Thank the sweet Lord.”
“So? I mean, yes, he seems like a nice man, whatever. Mom, why does everyone seemed surprised to see him?”
“He’s not usually here.”
“Uhm, he’s busy, like you.”
“Why is he here now?”
“He knew?! He knew he was here to meet me?! MOM!!!!!!” (I just keep calling her mom like it will remind her about familial responsibility to not sneak-attack introduce your daughter to your friend’s nephew (or cousin?) without warning her or even asking if she wants to meet someone, especially when he’s expecting to meet her. It, apparently, does not. she’s just too sweet and too set on me being with someone nice. and handsome. no matter how much we don’t have in common. nice and good looking are her requirements).
“Well, Art mentioned I had a daughter, so he said we would meet you.”
“Good of him to make the concession.”
Later, I jet out, and my mom texts me once I’m at church.
“How did you like your clothes? And that boy would like your email. Is that okay? Also, I don’t know your email. Plus, the whole family liked you, of course.”
Ya like how she just slips it in there like that?
my mother is the cutest little bit of generous nonsense sometimes.
life is never boring
(ftr, this isn’t the first time she’s done this. She’s done it at work. she’s done it while I was DEEP CLEANING HER HOUSE. she’s done it at church. determined woman, that. ;)